


steal my heart 'til kingdom come

by tosca1390



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Her eyes stray over reading upon reading; she thinks she can taste the tang of energy and ozone even now, and that strange sense of pine and smoke that she associates with Thor. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	steal my heart 'til kingdom come

**Author's Note:**

> So, I saw [this](http://graphitedoll.tumblr.com/post/26558542882/just-a-quick-thor-and-jane) fanart, and of course I wanted to write something, and of course it's angsty and lame. But WHATEVER, FEELINGS.
> 
> Also, I haven't actually seen _The Avengers_? I know Jane's in Norway or whatever, but I don't particularly care about Joss Whedon and his whatevers. I just have scientist/thunder god feels. So let's pretend she's still in NM for the moment. 
> 
> For Ari.

*

“Something is _wrong_ ,” Darcy says, not for the first time this week. 

“You keep saying that,” Jane mumbles, distracted by the readings speeding by her on the bright computer screen. Outside, it’s raining; New Mexico in the rain is sad, sandy and damp and musty. It makes her think of Thor, of the night he brought her notebook back to her. 

“I mean it,” Darcy mutters. 

Jane takes a moment to look at the younger girl, here for a second summer under Jane’s tutelage. Erik is in New York with S.H.I.E.L.D., or so they last heard; there’s been radio silence, so to speak, from their overlords, as Darcy so winningly has deemed them, for over a week. In the meantime, there are rumblings on the news of strange events; there have even been strange readings, varying energies throughout the atmosphere, all around the world. Their ever-present bodyguards (guarding the research really, Jane knows that much) say nothing; but it all does seem bizarre. 

Then again, she has made promises to Norse gods and seen the powers of said gods in action, so she isn’t quite sure that this isn’t just the status quo from now on. 

“If there was something they needed from us, they would tell us,” Jane says at last. 

Slumped in her chair, feet up on her neatly-arranged desk, Darcy shrugs. “No emails from Phil in a week.”

Now, Jane quirks an eyebrow. “Phil?”

“Shut up.”

“Again, if there was something they needed to tell us, they would,” Jane says, though she doesn’t believe it all too much. But she has her research and she’s close, so close that she can taste it – as long as they don’t shut her down, she can stand anything. She looks back to her research and drags her fingers along the worn leather cover of her notebook. 

“I just don’t want to get blindsided by another almost-Apocalypse,” Darcy murmurs, eyes fixed on her iPod. She likes to have her perfect playlists set up before she dives into a session of transcription; she’s a funny girl, but Jane likes the steadiness of company. Science can be solitary, when it wants to be. 

Jane sighs, and leans back in her chair. “We won’t,” she murmurs, eyes skimming yesterday’s energy readings. “We won’t.”

Hours later, Darcy is asleep in her trailer, parked behind the rebuilt lab. Jane stays up through the dark hours of late evening, listening to the rain pelt the plate-glass bulletproof windows. Behind her, the energy readers beep tranquilly, without any strange aberration. Her eyes stray over reading upon reading; she thinks she can taste the tang of energy and ozone even now, and that strange sense of pine and smoke that she associates with Thor. 

Still, it is the thrill of the puzzle, the tingle of solutions said to be unsolvable that pushes her. Apart from deals and promises and the thrill of wind in her hair and strong arms at her waist, she is a scientist first and foremost. 

Jane can almost hear Darcy asking, _why not be everything_?

Abruptly, as she pours eyes over the rudimentary drawings of all the worlds she hasn’t been, sketched in a hand that was warm and broad and thrumming with strength, a sharp dissonant beep startles her. Jane pushes her hair from her eyes and swivels in her chair, watching the lights flicker and shift on the screen. There is static in the air, the hair rising on the nape of her neck. 

A thunderstorm, she thinks at first. But it’s moving, getting closer, specific and direct –

Biting her lip, she takes a small palm-sized recorder and her notebook and moves out of her cavern of computers and printers and recorders. She tugs her jacket closer around her and opens the front door into the empty streets. The rain is cool against her skin, her face. She ducks out from underneath the eaves of the storefront and looks up into the grey starless sky, the recorder in her palm pinging like mad. 

She tucks the notebook inside of her jacket, against the thin cotton of her t-shirt, to keep dry. 

“Something is coming,” she murmurs, glancing down at the Geiger counter in her hand. 

Suddenly, there is a sharp burst from the counter, a gust of dusty New Mexico wind – she takes a sharp breath, and the ground shakes in front of her. She looks up, and her mouth falls open. 

Thor stands there, armor-less and hammer-less, in the jeans and flannel she remembers just as she remembers the cool press of Norse armor against her skin. His hair is longer, now – he looks older, which she thinks is strange, because do gods age? – and there is a sad turn to his mouth, something like loss in his gaze. 

They stand there in the rain together, watching each other for what seems like a forever of moments. Jane slips the hand-held reader into her back jeans pocket, blinking. She clutches at the notebook close to her stomach, afraid she will wake up and it’s all just a dream. Rain slides down her cheeks, and she takes a step closer. 

“How – “ she stops, something bitter lingering in the back of her tongue. “The Bifrost – “

“You will catch a cold, Jane Foster,” he says at last. She hears the gruff roll of grief in his voice. 

And then, he takes his flannel over-shirt and pulls it from his shoulders. Before she can take a breath, he has it held over her head as a makeshift canopy, or an umbrella. She tips her head back – she forgot just how tall he was – and mouths soundlessly for a moment. 

“The Bifrost remains broken,” he says quietly. 

A part of her is thrilled – there is still a mystery out there for her to solve, to prove – but now, she has to wonder – 

“How are you _here_ , then?” she asks, slightly breathless. He leaves her giddy in the strangest ways, but she does not mind. 

“My brother opened his own path. I followed – do you not know, then?” he asks, brow furrowed. 

“It’s been quiet here. They leave me alone for the most part,” she says, feeling awkward now. She has slept beside him and cleaned blood from his skin and kissed him and he showed her what it meant to fly, and now – now she can’t string two words together to say to him. 

Thor sighs, shakes his head. “There was an – an incident with my brother. Nick Fury – I had to come in an help.”

She frowns, deeply. This is not how she expected this reunion to go. Perhaps it’s romantic of her, but she feels – strange about wanting to kiss him when he’s speaking about official business. “Is – is everything all right?” she asks, utterly perplexed. “Is Erik all right? Why didn’t anyone tell us anything?”

Suddenly, he leans down and kisses her. It catches her off-guard, but she shuts her eyes after a moment and lifts her hands, notebook and all, to his broad chest. His mouth is gentle and warm on hers, and she can taste the loss, the blood, the tang of his power. She feels it as she stretches her arms around his neck and he gathers her close, nearly pulling her feet off the ground. He kisses her as if he does not want to forget her, and she shifts and sighs. 

“No,” he breathes against her mouth at last, his arms tight at the small of her back. “Everything is not well, Jane.”

She moves her mouth across the line of his jaw, her fingers digging into the nape of his neck. “Thor, what – “

“I wanted to see you,” he breathes against the soft of her cheek. Her hair falls between them, catching at his mouth. 

He backs her up, his flannel lost to the ground, and presses her back against the glass doors of the store/laboratory. Her legs curl over his hips and she feels just swallowed by the sheer strength and mass of him, the tingle at her fingertips as her skin catches his. His mouth is at her throat and she tips her head back with a low moan. 

“Thor – Thor – what _happened_?” she asks insistently, her fingers sliding through the damp lengths of his hair against his neck. The notebook remains pressed between her palm and his muscled shoulder blades. 

Breathing slowly against her skin, he shakes his head again, as if he cannot comprehend what she asks. She moves her lips along the line of his brow, his temple, the sharp jut of his cheekbones. The air is thick with rain and she knows, she _knows_ it is because of him. 

Finally, he lifts his head from her neck, meeting her gaze straight on. “My brother was corrupted, and many good people died,” he says. “Phil Coulson, is one of them.”

Jane sucks in a sharp breath. “Oh. Oh, no – I’m sorry,” she says softly. There is a dark taste of grief at the back of her throat, but she is still so happy, so _happy_ to see him that she can’t focus on either sensation completely. 

“I only – I have only wanted to see you, for a very long time,” he says, voice very low. “I have missed you, Jane.”

Her thighs tighten at his hips, as he leans into her. She carries the weight of him just as he once carried her, holding him against the glass of her lab, what he, in some ways, gave back to her. “I’m right here,” she says at last. She moves a hand to the large plane of his jaw and cheek, touching the stubble there. “I’m here.”

He leans in and kisses her again, harder this time. There is the slide of his tongue over her bottom lip and she opens to him, curling herself around him as best she can. She feels it, the grief and the frustration and the happiness, all in full, and she sighs his name, fingers biting into the hard line of his jaw. 

It’s just steps to carry her back into the darkened lab. He tries to make it to the back door, to the trailer he always seems too big for – she is not that patient. 

Neither is he, she thinks as he presses her against the sturdy wall near the back of the building. 

Her notebook is lost to the floor, to be found again in the morning’s light. She needs both hands to peel the damp shirt from his chest, dragging her fingertips over the hard plane of him. His hands slide over her breasts and the jut of her hipbones as his mouth knocks against hers, jarring and sweet and too wonderful. 

“ _Thor_ – “ she gasps as his tongue slides over her throat. Her hands dig and curl at his hips, pulling at his damp jeans. The floor around them is a mess of damp clothes and rain droplets, and she is left breathless in her underwear as he pulls back. His gaze is hot and dark, pupils blown; his eyes skate down the long expanses of bare skin and she smiles, tugging at his loosened hair. 

“You really haven’t changed,” she murmurs, glad. There is still that essence of wonder about him, and a wide open heart. There is a reason the hammer returned to him, she thinks, and that reason remains. 

Thor smiles then, a small bright white slip of teeth, before he leans into kiss her, his fingers pulling at the cotton between her thighs. “Neither have you,” he says with a laugh. 

It’s easy, even when it maybe shouldn’t be; he is gentle and she is insistent, their mouths curled against each others as her thighs shift against his hips and he is there, surrounding her in heat and strength and a strange kind of solidity. Her fingers twist in his hair as he slides into her, slick and warm and thick. It’s all moans and sighs and the sound of her name on his lips, and it feels right – she sets a store in these kinds of things now, after him. 

_Jane_ , he breathes against the thin skin of her neck over and over, and she holds on tight. 

Later, she picks the clothes and notebook and energy reader off the floor as he sighs and goads her; _we must sleep, Jane. I am sure you hardly ever as it is_ – and she smiles and shakes her head. Her trailer feels cozy with him in it, curled up in her small bed. Together they listen to the rain falling against the tin roof, his arm around her waist and his mouth at her bare shoulder, and he tells her everything. 

The first adventure has hardly ended, and now the next begins, she thinks sleepily as he kisses her once more. 

*


End file.
